


Carnival

by Mikkal



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Auctions, Brainwashing, Human Trafficking, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Torture, carnivals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-07-12 22:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7124362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikkal/pseuds/Mikkal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a carnival in town. Unfortunately it's not all fun and games, because this particular carnival is holding a dark secret.</p><p>A metahuman in their clutches and ready to be sold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Hartley, come on, what are we doing here?” Cisco whines.

            He’s tired and cold and would rather spend his day with Iris and Caitlin than pattering around with Hartley Rathaway. Though nowadays he’s less _Hartley Rathaway_ and more Hartley and—no, anyway, he’d rather be at home than in the drizzle with Hartley at a freakin’ _carnival_. Hartley doesn’t even _like_ carnivals!

            “Wait,” Hartley replies, his lips in a thin line instead of his usual smirk. “I didn’t want to tell you beforehand because I _know_ you and your motley crew would have stormed the castle half-cocked and that is the worse idea of all ideas. I wanted you to see it first.”

            “See _what_?” Cisco snaps.

            Hartley merely loops his arm through his, pulling Cisco tightly along his side, and drags him through the sad, miserable looking crowd. (aren’t carnivals suppose to be _fun_? why do they all look so sad?) He takes Cisco past all of the attractions that look only a little interesting until they get to a large tent tucked in the shadows at the back.

            “I heard about it from Lisa,” Hartley goes on to say. “She didn’t want to touch it, for obvious reasons, but she told me about it and unsubtly hinted that I’d get STAR Labs involved.” Something twists in his expression that Cisco’s never seen before. “So, here I am, getting STAR Labs involved.”

            Cisco bites back a sigh. There’s no use snapping again. While Hartley is usually a dick, he’s not normally this cagey. “Involved in what, Hartley? Can you at least prepare me for whatever it is? You’re acting like it’s the worst thing in the world.”

            Hartley grimaces. “Honestly, it probably is.”

            He doesn’t have a reply, finally deciphering his earlier expression for what it was: disgust. Not the sneering posh disgust that comes from viewing everyone less than him, but true, honest-to-God, ‘I’m going to puke at any moment’ disgust. If just the _thought_ of whatever it is, is enough to reduce Hartley Rathaway to that, when well, maybe Cisco doesn’t want to know what he’s getting into.

            The tent smells of mold and mildew, a gross damp smell he remembers from his uncles flooded basement a long time ago. Dirty lights string along the top, giving the entrance way a dull glow. There’s another entrance, but the people walking through that one are dressed in fine clothing with even finer jewelry. His stomach twists at the sight, the clashing of classes never ends well in any version of any story.

            “What did you drag me into?” he hisses.

           

 

* * *

 

 

An auction.

            Hartley’s dragged him to an _auction_.

            “Today is only for viewing of the piece,” The Woman in the Top Hat says grandly. “You have one week to decide on your bidding and then you place them. Highest bid get’s the piece.” She waves a hand, a signal for something because the men behind her start scrambling. “We’ve had two years to break the piece in, but sometimes it can get a little rowdy.”

            Cisco digs his nails into Hartley’s arms. “ _Dude_ ,” he mutters.

            Hartley’s breaths are shallow, sharp. They’re all but huddled together as the richly dressed men and women surge forward in anticipation. Cisco doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to _know_.

            And he doesn’t. For a while. He lets the first wave go through until the crowd has thinned out enough that he and Hartley can inch closer to the, well, display is the only word for it. It’s a display set up to show off the piece, to show off the _man_.

            He gasps and moves forward involuntarily, dragging Hartley along.

            It— _he_ looks like a man, if dangerously skinny. Pale, white skin pulled tight over bones, his cheek bones and jaw too sharp for his face. There’s a black, metal collar around his neck, chained to a stake in the ground. He’s clean of dirt, his dark brown hair deliberately styled, like a presentation. His clothes, a black tank top and black jogging capris, are clean and look new.

            He looks like any other college dude who’s about to go out for a run. Except, yeah, except the deep, dark shadows under his eyes, like black frost bite, the scabs around his mouth and ears, the purple splotches up and down his arms, the dried blood on his hands and feet.

            He looks _tiny_.

            “That’s…that’s a _person_ , Hartley,” he breathes. “How did Lisa even hear about this?”

            The man is curled in a ball, arms around his legs, chin resting on his knees. He’s staring at the crowd with an unreadable expression.

            Cisco looks up to see Hartley swallow thickly.

“I lied,” he says, voice trembling. “My parents…my parents were going to come. They might even be here. I was hacking their systems to help take them down a notch and I accidently followed the bread crumbs here.” He swallows thickly. “I didn’t…I didn’t really _believe_. Human trafficking? I don’t—my parents…”

“ _It’s not doing anything,_ ” someone mutters, disgusted. “ _I’m not spending any money on that_ thing.”

The Woman in the Top Hat steps forward again, a smile plastered on her face. “Never fear. Our piece has learned that any show without my explicit permission is forbidden. If you would like a show, I can give you a show.” She taps her plain cane against the palm of her hand and steps behind the man. “We call it our own lightning in a bottle.” She puts a mocking finger to her lips. “Watch.”

She just gives a little tap on the man’s shoulder, making a sharp little ‘ _bzzt_ ’ sound between her teeth. The man jerks like he’s been shot and in one blink he’s _gone_.

The crowd gasps in wonder at the sparks of yellow lightning left behind.

There’s the sound of metal on metal and a horrendous yelp, and the man appears again a second later, on his back, staring at the ceiling, the metal chain stretched to its limit.

“As you can see,” The Woman in the Top Hat says, smug as can be. “We’ve got a _speedster_ on our hands. How rare, right? Have any of you hear of one before? I haven’t, that’s for sure.” She taps her cane against the man’s stake, he flinches at the sound, but doesn’t get up even as people start to crowd around him, prodding his feet and whispering. “It’s fully trained, no worries about that. We think the nature of its powers is what causes it to be rowdy every now and then, but nothing a little extra lightning can’t fix.”

She makes the ‘bzzt’ noise again and, with dawning horror that has his stomach rolling, Cisco realizes that she’s mimicking the sound of a Taser or the attempt at a cattle prod.

“A _metahuman_ ,” Hartley whispers, horrified. “Not just a person. A fucking metahuman.” His arm tightens around Cisco’s. “I didn’t know.” He sounds like he’s desperate for Cisco to believe him.

And he does. Cisco does believe him. He just…he just can’t handle anything right now. This is like every nightmare come to life. This is like finding Ronnie and Bette in the hands of Eiling all over again only to get captured himself until Tess, Iris, and Caitlin busted them all out and Harrison got Eiling blacklisted for the rest of his life.

This is….

God, he thought he’d been keeping a good eye on any metahumans that popped up and he thought he was getting better at tracking where they went based off usage of powers and any external things they influenced by accident. He didn’t want them to end up with Stagg or Cadmus (or Eiling, who had been a fear before Harrison took care of it)

 _He thought he’d been doing_ better.

“Cisco,” Hartley murmurs, tugging on him.

Cisco looks at the metahuman again, dragging his gaze from that horrible Woman, to see him being yanked up by a patron. He hangs there limply in their grip as they examine his fingers individually.

“Bidding starts at 100 grand,” The Woman in the Top Hat announces. “There will be a showing of our lightning in a bottle on Wednesday at five minutes ‘til midnight, all biddings must be present by 11:59 p.m. Friday in order for them to be considered. Take a few more minutes to inspect it now, but then, unfortunately, we must see you out the tent. Thank you and good night.” She takes a deep, sweeping bow before twirling on a heel and sashaying to the exit, leaving the metahuman behind.

 

* * *

 

 

“We have to help him,” Cisco says.

            “Of course,” Tess replies immediately.

            Iris grips the back of Harrison’s chair tightly and the man doesn’t complain, as if he can feel the thick, angry vibes coming off of her in waves. Caitlin looks sick, leaning against her favorite monitor stand, her face paler than normal. Ronnie’s half keeping her up, half looking like he just stepped out of living nightmare and Cisco is reminded all over again the Eiling incident.

            “A speedster,” Harrison says quietly. “Unfortunately that woman is right in the fact that we’ve never seen one before. It’s going to be difficult to help him if we don’t know what his powers have done to him on each level—physiological, emotional, mental. His metabolism could be different, his DNA, the speed in which he processes trauma and the corresponding emotions. Half the metahumans we’ve seen have changed on a genetic level, the other half not. Some aren’t even natural or science created metas and that opens up a huge can of worms already.” He side-eyes Eddie, glaring half-heartedly, making Ronnie snort.

            Eddie drags a hand down his face, looking ten times as tired as he did yesterday. “And will he trust us enough to come with us? I’m sorry, but the way you described him and the way he reacted to the _fake_ buzzing means that he’s deeply traumatized and, sometimes, victims like that doesn’t recognize help for what it is. They just expect a trap or a lie, he might suspect we’re working for her and are trying to break him down more for his new _owner_.” He sneers the word, his expression twisted up in a way Cisco’s never seen before.

            “He’s too exposed to rush in without a plan,” Tess says, rolling up her sleeves and putting her hair back. “When did you say the ‘showing’ was?”

            “Wednesday,” Hartley answers quietly from the corner.

            “We have two days to come up with a solid plan.” She rolls a chair to the desk, cracking her knuckles. “Brainstorm, go.”


	2. Chapter 2

It…

            No, _he_ is tired.

            So, so tired. It— _he_ can’t remember the last time he felt this kind of bone-deep exhaustion, like gravity had chosen it— _him_ specifically to weigh on.

            It sighs and digs…his nails into its bare thigh. Its nice clothes got taken away from it again. Which is a shame because he liked those clothes. They were _clean_. They were _warm_.

            He curls up a little tighter in its cage, wrapping its arms around its legs.

            Home. It wants to go home. Does he even have one? It scrubs at its face, eyes dry and itchy. He’s not even sure how long he’s been with the Carnival. All he’s aware of are lessons and punishments, tricks and spotlights. Applause, jeering.

            It barely feels like a person anymore. A servant, maybe. Living Entertainment, definitely. He shudders to think what his knew master will be like…owner? Master? So many different titles to remembers, what if it calls them by the wrong one? Would they send him back to the carnival? Would they beat it?

            A breeze brushes through the tent flaps, causing goosebumps. He wrinkles his nose and curls up even tighter, which isn’t more than he was already. Everything’s just so _cold_ and lonely.

            So lonely.

           

* * *

 

 

The sight that greets Eddie after doing a food run is not a pretty one. Cisco’s at the main desk, cradling his head in his hands, elbows braced on his thighs. Iris is numb to his arrival, barely moving, her back straight and shoulders tense as she clicks through a database. Caitlin comes out of the break room, expression drawn, and hands Cisco a juice box. The Cortex is silent.

            “What did I miss?” he asks warily, scared of the answer.

            Caitlin shakes her head. “Nothing.” She sighs. “That’s what makes this so frustrating.” She leans her hip against the desk, running a hand through her short hair. “Tess and Harrison had a Board meeting, Ronnie went o answer an emergency call for one of satellite buildings, Hartley wend underground for some poking around. We’ve been trying to figure out a plan to help the meta but…it’s just not coming.”

            Her chest heaves after the venting, cheeks flushed. Cisco wraps his head around her wrist and she sags, closing her eyes.

            “Iris can’t even find anything about the carnival,” she adds. “I just hate feeling so…so _helpless_.”

            _Again_ goes unsaid, but understood.

            Eddie winces and puts the food down. Iris had told him about STAR Labs’ connection to metahumans, but he hadn’t been brought in fully until the Eiling incident. It was only then that he told them about his powers, mostly just so they wouldn’t freak out when he healed Cisco and Ronnie and Bette after they found them.

            He hates that they have to feel like this again, for a stranger even. His chest warms at that, feeling an unfathomable amount of love for this ragtag team and their giant hearts.

            “Maybe you should take a break,” Eddie suggests, coming up behind Iris and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Just ten minutes. Give your eyes a rest, eat some food.” He squeezes her shoulder, pressing a thumb against the stubborn knot always in that spot. She doesn’t answer him. “Iris?”

            “I don’t believe it,” she mutters. There’s an underlying rage in her voice. “I don’t _fucking_ believe it.”

            “Iris?” Caitlin asks, eyebrows furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

            Iris _slams_ her fist on the desk top, making Cisco jump. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong is _this_.” She waves her hand at the monitor, showing an article for the carnival from a show in, what looks like, Germany. One of the pictures is two sideshows side by side, one with a man and the other a woman. Iris jabs her finger at the one with the guy. “I _know_ him.”

            Eddie squints at it. The photo is blurry and indistinct. “Are you sure?”

            “Yes,” Iris grits out. He can tell it’s not him she’s angry at. She slides the chair back violently and jumps to her feet, pacing. “I know him and I’ve been looking for him for two fucking years!” She whirls around again, pointing at the computer. “That’s Barry Allen.”

            Cisco makes a noise of disbelief. “No way.”

            She nods. “I’d recognize him anywhere, and that article is only six months after he disappeared.  He may have changed some, but at that point, not a lot.” Her shoulders slump and she wraps her arms around her stomach, like she just lost all her anger in one go. “Oh my god, I found him…and he’s up for sale.”

            “I’m sorry,” Eddie says, voice small. “But who’s Barry?” He recognizes the name, but only in passing. Based on Iris’ strong reaction, he’s missing something very important.

            Iris breathes deep, shaky and wet. “My best friend,” she says softly. “We grew up together, we talked about going through the police department together before I switched to journalism. He was…” she flushes, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear, looking suddenly shy. “We were each other’s first kiss. I—.” She chokes on the last word, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.

            “When the particle accelerator went off,” Cisco jumps in with. “Barry was hit with lightning and put in a nine-month coma. STAR Labs was funding all the hospitals in the Gem Cities, so he was getting the best care and managed to wake up with no complications. He disappeared two months after waking up.”

            “Iris looking for him and investigating the metahumans is what led her to STAR Labs,” Caitlin adds as Iris drops back into her chair, looking defeated.

            “I can’t believe…I can’t believe they’re _selling him_.” She looks up at them with watery, pleading eyes. “We need to save him. We _have_ to.”

            Eddie scoffs before moving forward to cup her face in his hands, brushing a tear away with a thumb. “Of course we will,” he says. “We’re going to do everything in our power to save Barry, okay? You don’t have to worry about that.”

            She nods. “I know. I know, thank you. I just…I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe this is what he’s been going through.” She suddenly gasps, shooting up. “Oh—Oh God, I need to call his parents.”


	3. Chapter 3

“This is a terrible idea,” Iris says for the hundredth time, her grip _tight_ on Cisco’s arm.

  
For the equally hundredth time Cisco makes a noise of agreement and says, “It’s not like we had a better one.”

This is...true.

They’re dressed in their Sunday best, Cisco even broke out his glasses for this despite the swanky contacts he’s been using for, like, six months. For some reason people look at him in a suit and his glasses and decide that he’s a lot richer than he actually is - and kind of underestimate how smart he is.

It’s a weird conflicting oxymoron Hartley gets a kick out of way too often.

The crowd is thick and full of the type of people that remind him that working behind-the-scenes is a Godsend that keeps them away from him.

Cisco curls his hand over Iris’, drawing strength from her. Her skin is clammy to the touch. He wishes they were anywhere but here, but that’s not going to happen. A childhood friend is here. A metahuman is here, being tortured and set to be sold like no human should ever be.

His stomach rolls at the thought and he swallows thickly.

The Woman in the Top Hat is waiting for them on the stage, a wicked smirk on her face. Unfortunately, it just makes her dangerously beautiful and leaves Cisco feeling even sicker for thinking that. Her hat’s ribbon is purple this time around with a joker card sticking out the band - different than the blood red with the queen of hearts last time he saw her. Behind her sits a digital board with LED numbers in green.

$500,650.

That’s a lot more than 100 grand.

“I thought you said $100,000,” Iris whispers, voice shaky.

Cisco swallows again. “I did,” he replies. “That was the starting bid, though. This must be the highest bid so far.”

Just as he says that, the numbers jump up to $750,000.

Iris makes a despairing noise in the back of her throat, clutching him tighter. When he looks over, though, her mouth is set in a stubborn line and her eyes are hard.

“We’re going to save him,” she says firmly.

And, honestly, Cisco loves it when she gets determined like that. It sets off a smoldering fire of his own confidence. Maybe he doesn’t have the best track record in the world of keeping his allies safe, damn it he’s gonna do better.

“Damn straight.”

They move with the crowd, surging against the stage where The Woman in the Top Hat stands like a could-have-been queen on a burnished, broken throne. Tess and Harrison are working on trying to figure out this woman’s name and where the hell she came from.

Somehow Iris squeezes his arm tighter. Cisco has never been happier that her powers don’t lend themselves to explosive forms of violence. Unlike some people. ( Ronnie wanted to come, but, honestly, his temper gets ahead of him sometimes and little fire power he has with Professor Stein is still enough to set the whole tent aflame. )

“Welcome!” The Woman in the Top hat says grandly, bowing slightly with a sweep of her hat. She tips it back on her head like a magician, raising her chin and closing her eyes a little so she can look down at them from under her lashes. “Such a large turn out for a showing! I’m impressed.” She laughs lowly, pressing a finger to her lips. “I wonder what makes it so enticing? Should I throw you a bone and tell you about his _stamina_?”

Cisco shudders, feeling sick.

“Let’s bring it out, why don’t we?” The Woman in the Top Hat snaps her fingers and this time a cage is rolled out. It reminds Cisco of the old-fashion circus cages they kept animals in when they paraded through the city. Bars on all four sides, rectangular, with an elaborate roof that curled at the corners in gold and burst on top like a crown.

The metahuman - Barry - is there again - of course. The cage is about the length and width of an average living room, maybe about eight feet in height. Enough that if he spontaneously flashed away from, say, a cattle prod, he might run smack into the bars with no stopping.

And that’s what the woman does. She makes the ‘ _bzzt_ ’ noise at the back of her teeth, tapping her cane against the bars, and Barry disappears in a blink. He crashes against the bars with a sickening crunch, causing laughter to ripple across the crowd and murmuring to rise up.

Barry stumbles back with blood on his face, dripping from his nose and his lips. He drops against the opposite wall of bars, clutching at his throat but not going up to cover his face.

“It has an accelerated healing rate,” the Woman in the Top Hat announces. “In a few hours its nose will be healed, but the lips will only take a few minutes. Exposed to extreme cold slows it all down. It also has torpidity - like hummingbirds. The more it uses it speed the more it has to eat, but when it sleeps it slows down its metabolism to the almost point of shutting down and its temperature drops.”

_It. It. It._ Cisco just wants to _scream_ at the impersonal pronoun. People don’t even use _it_ to refer to animals and yet - yet she keeps using it for this _person_. Maybe leaving Ronnie behind wasn't such a great idea.

“Feel free to poke and pride,” the Woman in the Top Hat says graciously. “At the amount of people who have come out for the viewing, we can’t give you a first hand view of everything it can do. If you enter the rooms to your left and to your right behind me, we have some testing videos on display for your pleasure and edification.”

Cisco tugs Iris towards the room to the right, bypassing the larger crowd mingling around Barry’s cage. If Iris decides to say anything to him, she won’t be able to do it when more than half the attendees are present. She follows him, subdued.

There’s a high-pitched yelp behind them and it takes everything in their power not to turn around.

The room they've entered does, indeed, have screens crudely propped up. It’s less refined than he was expecting. Exposed wires everywhere and one of the five televisions isn't even one. The ones that are are labeled one, three, four, and five, and they each show a scene from either inside of a gym or out on a field. There are other metahumans involved too, all of them facing against Barry in battle.

“I recognize her,” Iris whispers when they stop in front of screen three. “That’s...they call her Peek-a-Boo. She’s been suspected in several robberies in the Detroit area.”

Cisco almost asks what her powers are when the Peek-a-Boo on screen answers for him - when she disappears in a small puff and appears right behind Barry. Teleportation. Different than the slight static Barry leaves behind. She just slightly faster than him too getting the upper hand to roundhouse him in the back. He’s thrown forward a few feet, catching himself on his forearms, knees braced against the ground.

There’s no sound, so when his lips move Cisco doesn’t know what he says, but he can see Peek-a-Boo smother a laugh. Seconds later they both snap in place, their whole bodies twitching and jerking like they've been run through with electricity.

There’s something wrapped tightly around her bicep, her fingers claw at it even long after the shocks are over.

“Well, guess that answers the question,” Iris mutters, “on whether she’s doing things on her volition or not.”

“Unless she escaped herself,” Cisco points out.”

Iris shakes her head. “You see her face when she laughed? If she escaped she would’ve taken Barry with her or come back for him. The time stamp says this was three months ago, basically on the other side of the country probably.” Her head shakes again, she looks disgusted. “No, they probably went through this whole show with her too.”

The other three screens show Barry in varying states of combat - only one of them was against a dummy, the last two showed him fighting other metahumans.

If it weren’t for the circumstances, it would be quite the sight. Even then, thinking around it in the most twisted away he can manage, Cisco can understand the point of showing the violence. If someone wanted to use a speedster as a weapon, they have an example of what he can do. Even a drop in the bucket is something to wonder at.

The room to the left is different in that it has four working screens in pairs of two. Two of them are long, almost the length of Cisco and not very wide, and the other two look like normal flat screen televisions. The tall one is paired with a short one on either side of the room. On the stretched up screens has slowly scrolling information, a wash of black text on white. The flat screen on the right shows Barry stretched out on a metal table, hands and feet bound down tight. The screen to the right shows him a blur on a treadmill in a blank room.

The stretched screen with the treadmill shows the miles per hour the treadmill is going, along with heart rate and respirations. It’s ticking close to the 400 mark when Barry falters once, then the 450 mark, when he goes down hard on his knees and flies off the end to crash into the wall.

He struggles to his feet, legs shaking, blood dripping steadily from his mouth to puddle on the floor. He stumbles to the slowing treadmill and before it makes it to 200 mph, he’s already stepping on it and keeping up with it as it surpasses the 450 mph he failed at before.

Iris makes a strangled noise and covers her mouth as they watch Barry keep running even as his neck starts to shine red from the blood from his mouth before it dries enough to look more like mud. The treadmill’s speed fluctuates between too high and too slow at seemingly random intervals.

They both ignore the screen behind them, unable to bear what they might find.

When they leave the second room, there are less people around Barry’s cage, but they’re all jeering. Iris pushes through the crowd with a stony expression - and a hint of fear - until they’re as close as they’re going to get.

Barry’s being held against the bars from behind, his feet free to kick about even though it doesn’t give him the leverage to do anything. His face is red as he scrabbles at the pressure around his throat. Tears stream steadily down his cheeks. He gasps, a desperately, rasping noise.

The Woman in the Top Hat smiles from behind him, her elegant hands pulling the leather around Barry’s neck tighter. “Now, watch this, dears.” She leans over, barely brushing her lips against the speedster’s ear and whispers, “Now :  _submit_.”

He stills, eyes rolling his his head. His hands fall to his side and his feet stop kicking. He lays there limply, and lets the Woman in the Top Hat yank once more on the leather before buckling it around two of the bars in a rather loose hold. Barry’s head hangs limply over the edge of - holy crap that’s a - the belt, the sides digging into his jugular.

There’s a fear in Barry’s eyes, his jaw twitches, his fingers clench into fists before relaxing. Like a spasm he can’t control. He wants to rip the belt away, but can’t bring himself to break the order this woman has given him.

“Even with at the threat of it’s own psychical harm,” she announces proudly, “it will obey every order it’s given.”

Iris turns shining eyes towards Cisco - we have to save him. now, on her lips and in his thoughts.

The bid jumps to $12,450,600.


End file.
